


power hungry assholes

by sweetsinnerchild



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Underfell, M/M, Post-Neutral Route - King Papyrus Ending, Throne Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-18
Updated: 2016-04-18
Packaged: 2018-06-03 02:08:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6592369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweetsinnerchild/pseuds/sweetsinnerchild
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Papyrus is beautiful when he’s all fury and spite.</p>
            </blockquote>





	power hungry assholes

**Author's Note:**

> s/o to type and sugar as usual, for encouraging me down this path
> 
> suggested bg music: [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2CISzjeS3J8)
> 
> also wow consensual sex never knew i had it in me

Asgore is dead.  
  
There’s a lot of monsters who are dead, of course: Undyne, Mettaton, and where would the Royal Scientist be without her attack dog, where indeed - but Asgore, good old King Asgore who was the biggest and baddest monster in the whole Underground was dead, done in by a human. Being the strongest monster of all monsters meant nothing when going up against one of nature’s strongest predator.  
  
Sans had kept an eye on them - they were vicious, determined to live, and maybe the underground suited him fine if that’s how all human kids turned out.  
  
They were useful though, carving a bloody path straight to the castle - and maybe he was thankful that Papyrus got out alive.  
  
(Papyrus had been livid - Sans had seen the human stop shy of severing his brother’s head from his neck, a considering glint in their eye, before they walked away. As if Papyrus wasn’t worth the effort of killing.  
  
He hasn’t been back to the house since. Sans knows better.)  
  
But now the whole Underground was clamouring over the power vacuum, of who would be next in line - the Queen, perhaps, if the old hag ever showed her face again - and as the Underground was, the best way to decide was _kill or be killed_.  
  
Heh. Nice to know some things never changed.  
  
So here he is, hidden up in the corner of the hall leading up to the throne room, watching the bloodbath beneath him. He’s seen monsters step through the doorway, and he’s seen them _tear_ through whoever was blocking the way. The prize is the crown, hanging off the throne and glinting gold in the sunlight that was filtering in through the holes in the roof.  
  
Monsters have killed for less. Now, they’re killing for the power that crown meant.  
  
But Sans is patient, and Sans waits. He doesn’t need to go back to the house, because surely _he_ has heard, and he doesn’t need to expend his energy, what with his shit level of a stamina. Besides, an outlet for pent-up rage that isn’t taken out on Sans is always good.  
  
So when bone constructs that aren’t his own stabs their way out of the ground and spears straight through the body of the monsters in his brother’s path, Sans grins, and waits for a few moments more before joining the fray.  
  
The floor of the throne room is thick with mounds of dust from weaker monsters, but the stronger and the vicious are still fighting - and in the middle of it all is his brother. Sans watches, breathless, as Papyrus slams a bone construct through the eye of an Astigmatism, piercing their cornea and straight into the pupil, as he whirls around and parries a blow from a Knight Knight. His brother’s countenance is set in a determined scowl, and yet there’s a hint of vindictive satisfaction curling around the serrated edge of his grin.  
  
Damn. Boss is so cool.  
  
But there’s a sudden huge influx of killing intent coming in from his side. Sans steps back, narrowly avoiding a barrage of muscle, and cocks his head at the Aaron who just tried to tackle him. Probably thought he was an easy kill.  
  
Man, was he _tired_ of people thinking that way.  
  
“alright, buddy,” Sans says, letting his eyelights gutter out into empty sockets. His grin remains intact. The Aaron sneers, flexing his disproportionately huge biceps at him, ready for a second attempt. “let’s dance.“  
  
He summons his gaster blasters, and the whine of the cannons gathering liquid magic into their gaping maws is _music_ to his ears.  
  
It’s almost exhilarating, with the way he turns an incoming Madjick’s soul blue and slams it down onto a patch of bones Papyrus had made a few minutes ago, and how he corners a Vulkin into a corner, with strategically placed blasters and a single sharpened bone. There’s something exciting about being alive, being powerful, being underestimated until he isn’t, and maybe this is why monsters get drunk-high over having such a high LOVE, because it only means that they were on top of the world.  
  
He’s a hurricane, carving his own lines of dust and scorch marks onto the hallowed grounds of the throne room, destroying everything he could see without ever letting anyone into the eye of the storm where he stands, untouched.  
  
But a Pyrope lunges its way towards him, dodging all of his blasters, and for one fleeting moment he thinks maybe he’s grown too cocky, and this was it -  
  
Several bones perforates through the tightened coils of its rope, and the flame atop its head flickers and dies.  
  
The Pyrope turns into dust, and Sans turns to see his brother across the throne room, alone.  
  
They stand, facing each other - two skeletons with their very, very dangerous weapons - and Sans drinks in the way dust is sprinkled all over his body, the tense line of his shoulder, the way his eyes narrow at Sans, assessing.  
  
Papyrus could kill him, Sans realises.  
  
(Sans would let him.)  
  
And Papyrus is striding towards him, long wide strides, and Sans stands in place, ready for whatever would come next - but his brother casts away his femur club, reaching forward to yank Sans up by his collar and in for a brutal kiss. A tongue licks into his mouth, hot and demanding and _this_ , this Sans knows how to deal with.  
  
He manifests his own tongue, twisting it around Papyrus’ and sucking hard, his hands flying up to pull his brother towards himself, the sharp tips of his hands digging into the armour. The blasters dissolve into thin air as his Papyrus snarls into the kiss, still so very angry, and there’s a shiver running up his spine.  
  
Papyrus is _beautiful_ when he’s all fury and spite.  
  
They break apart, gasping for air they never really needed, before Papyrus lunges towards Sans again, scraping his teeth down the thick curve of Sans’ jawbone, tongue flicking out to sooth the pinpricks of barely-there pain.  
  
“I saw you,” he’s saying, gasping out the words between licks, “you killed them, and you enjoyed it, didn’t you,” and he bites down, red marrow welling up at the corner of Sans’ jaw.  
  
“yes,” he hisses, pulling away and towards the sharp edge of pain, straining the leather against his neck just so. “yes, and it was all for you, boss -”  
  
“You could have taken me out,” Papyrus murmurs, laving his tongue over the wound and Sans shakes his head, or tries to, “but you didn’t -“  
  
“but i didn’t,” Sans gasps, turning his head and sucking Papyrus’ tongue back into his mouth, where it clearly belongs. His brother is still running high on adrenaline, and for once Sans is too, and he has never felt so alive. He wants Papyrus, he needs Papyrus, and he needs him to do something about the heat building up between them, and soon.  
  
But maybe Sans can be proactive just this once - and maybe he’s had a few fantasies about a certain centrepiece of the room, and it’s time to indulge them.  
  
He turns Papyrus’ soul blue, and before his brother could shout out in shock (or maybe kill Sans for even _daring_ ), he throws Papyrus onto the dark grey throne. Seconds later he’s clambering onto Papyrus’ lap, pinning him down to the oversized chair, his knees spread apart on either side of Papyrus’ thighs.  
  
Papyrus, bless his quick-thinking mind, gets the idea and grinds up into Sans’ pelvis.  
  
Sans grins, and Papyrus licks into his mouth again as he ruts up against the space between Sans’ open legs. Hands are pulling off his jacket and he shrugs out of it, letting the heavy material fall onto the floor, before reaching down to grab Papyrus’ spine and giving it a rough twist with his palm. Papyrus hisses.  
  
“c’mon, boss,” Sans murmurs, drawing back enough to talk but still close enough to keep kissing, hungry licks all over his brother’s teeth. He grips the top of the chair with his free hand, boxing them into their own private world. “or should i call you your majesty, sire, your royal highness papyrus -“  
  
His brother bucks up into him, and Sans grinds down sharply.  
  
“you like that,” Sans grins, teeth bared in satisfaction, “c’mon, your majesty, let your loyal servant serve you - ”  
  
And he’s undoing Papyrus’ belt with a clumsy but experienced hand, pushing at his brother’s pants and Papyrus is pushing Sans’ shorts down, and undressing each other might just be faster if they weren’t still rutting into each other like a pair of horny teenagers.  
  
Ah, well, they do deserve it.  
  
“what do you want, your highness,” Sans says, just on this side of desperate; he’s mixing up all the forms of address but it’s the intent that matters. “how do you want me -”  
  
“You’re going to ride me,” Papyrus says, no - orders, voice low and rasping. There’s the magic coalescing at his pelvis, forming into his dick, and Sans feels the way it pushes up against his crotch, a divine scrape against his own pubis. He shudders, hips stuttering in its movement. “You’re going to scream,“ and Papyrus curls his fingers around the jut of his hips, "so anyone stupid enough to investigate is going to see exactly who this throne belongs to.”  
  
“as you wish, sire,” Sans says, his words coming out as the mix of a laugh and a gasp, and lets his own magic respond to his brother’s wants.  
  
There’s the cunt, forming and dripping wet and ever-ready, but there’s also the cock, and the books tell him that most humans only have one or the other but Sans has the pleasure of _both_. He slots his hand over their dicks, hissing at the immediate friction, before sliding his hand roughly down the shafts. Papyrus bucks up into his hand, and Sans matches the rhythm, jerking and rutting against the staccato beat of Papyrus’ thrusts.  
  
They’re gasping and panting and he’s licking messily into Papyrus’ mouth, wanting more more and more and maybe Papyrus is being the lazy one for once, letting Sans do all the work -  
  
A finger slips into his cunt and he jerks forward, his hand slipping down the gilded edge of the throne.  
  
“Keep on going,” Papyrus tells him, the slightest bit breathless, and Sans obeys.  
  
A new rhythm is set - he thrusts forward, up into the friction of his hand and Papyrus’ cock, before rolling his hips back onto his brother’s fingers. The exquisite slide of bone against magic sends sparks up his spine, and he’s trying to keep going even as another finger joins the first, scissoring and spreading his cunt wide open.  
  
“paps,” he moans, rutting harder and faster, and he keens when a third digit slips in, twisting and thrusting. “paps, papyrus - _please_ -“  
  
“Address me correctly,” Papyrus bites out, crooking his fingers and dragging them out, leaving hot trails down the walls of his cunt. “Call me sire, you insolent whelp - ”  
  
“sire,” Sans gasps immediately, “sire, please, let me -“  
  
The fingers leave, and Sans lets go, his hand moving up to grip Papyrus’ shoulder for leverage. He lifts himself up, angling his hips, and slams himself down onto the waiting cock.  
  
“thank you, sire,” he breathes, and savours the way Papyrus shudders at his words.  
  
He raises himself up before twisting himself down, setting the rapid pace as he did before, riding Papyrus into the throne on which his brother belonged. His brother, covered in the dust of the monsters he killed, and Sans’ eye catches on the way the dust rubs off their bodies and onto the throne, streaks of light grey against dark velvet. They’re leaving their mark on the throne, just as Asgore did with those who dared to attack him, except now the old goat is dead and the ruins of this kingdom is theirs.  
  
Theirs, not Sans’, not Papyrus’, but _theirs_.  
  
"sire,” he gasps out with every thrust, as Papyrus’ cock fills him up and leaves an empty wanting space behind, over and over. It’s hard to keep his eyes open when pleasure is rushing through his bones and into this skull with every time he pushes himself back down onto Papyrus’ lap, but Sans tries. If anything, the sight of Papyrus’ eyes on him, hungry and desperate, spurs him on. “y-your majesty, ah, papyrus, papyrus _papyrus_ -”  
  
His voice is echoing down the long golden hall, loud and reverberating. Let them hear, he thinks, who the new ruler of Underground was; let them hear how revered was his name. And if anyone came to investigate, or to challenge them…  
  
They’d be waiting.  
  
“papyrus,” he says again, as he will call him again and again in the future, and lets the rush of his orgasm sweep him away.  
  
Where his strength has failed Papyrus easily picks up, grabbing Sans by his hips and rocking up into him furiously. Several thrusts later and his brother comes, shaking and crushing Sans in his grip.  
  
They breathe and breathe and breathe, staying where they were, still connected. After a moment’s thought, Sans wipes at his cum, splattered high on Papyrus’ armor and smears it onto the throne next to Papyrus’ skull.  
  
“You’ll clean that off,” Papyrus says.  
  
“make me,” Sans purrs, grinning wide.  
  
The hands on his hips tighten, and Papyrus smiles.

**Author's Note:**

> [psst!! too little chapters?](http://www.sweetsinnerchild.tumblr.com)


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